


A Name That Was

by antic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Believers, Gen, POV Outsider, Seedy motels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes you just really don't know who you're going to find on the other side of the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Name That Was

He hugged the book closer to his chest and took a deep breath. The sun just settled behind the horizon, making the stars stand out. With every day the moon was getting fuller. The neon M letter was blinking furiously. There weren’t many rooms that looked inhabited and for a second he considered simply bypassing the place, but then remembered that the Lord forgot no one and valued everybody all the same.

Michael shook his head and took a few steps towards the long porch. The night was warm, bordering on hot, and it was making him sweat slightly. No matter how many times he did this, it always made him nervous. Especially the motels. You never knew who was on the other side of that door.

Judging from the lights, there were three occupied rooms. There were more cars, but that didn’t matter. Before he got to change his mind, he knocked on the first jamb. Few moments passed before the door fell open and suddenly there was a threshold full of half–naked trucker, red, sweaty and with a belt buckle unclasped.

“What?” he growled angrily.

“Who is it?” Michael heard an irritated female voice from behind the man. For a second he was just opening and closing his mouth dumbly.

“H– Have you ever considered opening your heart to the Lord?” he squeezed out finally. For a while the fat–mountain was just staring at him blankly, uncomprehending.

“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” and then Michael got a face full of door. On shaking legs, thanking God for not getting a fist in the nose, he moved along, this time listening for a few seconds, making sure nothing illicit was going on. Quiet, good. He knocked. This time it was an older woman; over her shoulder he could see a TV working.

“Yes?” she asked kindly, startling him. He quickly snapped out of it.

“Would you be willing to accept the Lord into your heart?” he modulated his voice skillfully.

“Oh, I did that a long time ago, sweetheart,” she reached her wrinkled hand up and patted him on the cheek. “The angels are always watching.”

Michael shivered at the intensity of her gaze and stood there for a while after the quiet _snick_ of the door closing.

The one remaining room with lights on was the furthest from the reception, last in the row. There was a shiny black classic car in front of it. For some reason it made the fine hairs at the back of his neck stand. Walking closer, he noticed Kansas plates. Far from home. It wasn’t long before a really handsome, really big guy opened the door. Not at all like the redneck from room one. This one oozed confidence. And strength. And there were muscles. Definitely muscles. A lot of them. He was casually hiding his hand behind the door.

“What is it?” there was close scrutiny in his eyes and wariness in his voice. Looking up, he risked it.

“Do you know the angels of the Lord are always protecting you?” new approach, okay, new approach is good. An amused smirk appeared on the stranger’s face, eyes sparkling, and he relaxed slightly. Still not letting his guard down, though. Looking over his shoulder, he asked merrily:

“Oh, do they?” Michael caught a glimpse of a man in a trench coat standing in the middle of the room.

“Not all of them,” he answered gravelly, looking straight at Michael. Straight _through_ him. The man at the door shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if inclining – _this guy_.

“Okay, so we have established that,” he looked down at him. “If there’s nothing else–” he started closing the door and Michael heard him address someone named Sam.

“No!” was out of his mouth before he knew it. The guy stopped mid–track and furrowed his brow. “I just want to– ” he wasn’t meant to finish.

“Listen, pal,” the hotel guest leaned against the frame. “I don’t want to be rude, because our friend here,” he jabbed his thumb behind, pointing at the trench coat guy, unmoving and _still_ staring. “Wouldn’t really like us insulting his fanclub, so I’m gonna say nicely – we’ve got some important business to take care of and so–” he shrugged, not even trying to sound apologetic and starting to close the door again.

“Okay, I’m– Wait, fanclub?” the stranger sighed heavily, stopping.

“No fanclub, must’ve misheard, have a good day, praise the Lord an’ all.”

“Dean!” he heard an indignant cry from inside the room that definitely didn’t belong to the trench coat guy and seriously, his gaze was getting really unsettling. And then, he thought the first man was big? If so, this one was just plain huge. Muscles had muscles kind of huge. Michael felt his knees buckle a bit, even if the newcomer appeared to be on his side. He pushed the Dean guy out of the way, not without protest.

“Hi!” he said with a million dollar smile and shot the now invisible Dean a rebuked glance. “Sorry for my brother, he can be an ass sometimes.”

“Okay,” Michael said quietly. This guy filled the frame so completely he couldn’t see past him and yet he still had the feeling of being watched. And it had nothing to do with a mountain of a man standing right in front of him.

“Thing is, we don’t really have time for this,” the man explained calmly, slowly. Michael found himself nodding involuntarily. “And believe me when I say, we’re totally on board with this whole Heaven and Hell deal,” the giant looked back. Nervously, seeking reassurance, Michael didn’t know.

“Your real name is not Michael,” he heard a dark voice and shivered.

“Cas,” that was Dean, warningly.

What was going on?

“What?” Michael stuttered a bit. Tall guy moved, revealing the trench coat. Same place, motionless. 

“Why are you lying, Eric?”

Okay, he was starting to freak.

“I’m– I’m not,” he choked out finally. “It’s my church name. Like the archangel.”

“Yeah, and a dick at that,” came an unpleasant grumble from behind the door. This time nobody disagreed. Michael found himself reaching for righteous indignation.

“Excuse me?”

“It is not of import,” trench coat guy came closer, studying him like an interesting exhibit. Or a different species. And he didn’t like that thought one bit.

“Okay, we had our little moment, I think we creeped out enough people for the day, let’s get back to the topic at hand, _shall we_?” Dean came into his line of vision again while speaking emphatically.

“Your name is Eric,” guy in a trench coat – Cas? – said, and was it just him or the ground really shook a bit, right before the big guy gave him a worried look and with a short “sorry, man”, closed the door.

Michael stood there for a while, almost crushing the book in his hands. His palms were sweating. There was a quiet, subdued mumble of voices coming from behind the door. Finally he crossed himself shakily and dragged his feet out of there. Maybe it was time to take a little break and lay down on the church’s floor for a couple of days.

Feeling his eyes burn, not once did Eric look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Indulging myself in some more outside POV, obviously.


End file.
